Model Performance
by Shadow over Egypt
Summary: Their behaviour was anything but. She was miserable, he was apathetic, and the memory of Linda smiling hung around far too much for his liking. #Matt x Misa, Matt x Linda; oneshot, for Kelpy#


**Shadow:** For Kelpy, merry Christmas.

_**Notes: **_Misa x Matt, and Matt x Linda, just as you asked. (Both pairings _killed _me.)

* * *

**Model Performance**

Matt folded his arms across his chest and tried not to look too bored. He was at a Japanese technology convention, people from the various companies bringing forth their latest products and ideas but…the large majority of everything on show was well…rather _pathetic, _in Matt's opinion. He'd designed better himself, but still he kept hanging on, hanging around, reluctant to leave _just in case –_

He saw her then, out of the corner of his eye. One of her heels had caught in some ribbon on the floor, a discarded Christmas decoration, and she stumbled forwards in a flash of blonde and black to collide with an older-looking man in a carefully-pressed suit going past. Said male looked as though Christmas had come early (and it was only a week away), positively _beaming _down at the beautiful young woman now clutching at his chest in an effort to restore her balance.

She, in response, gave a rather wan smile back, finding her footing and extracting herself from the other's hold with effusive thanks as soon as she feasibly could. Her saviour seemingly recognised the move as the mild rejection it was, stepping away with a gracious nod and a wistful smile of his own.

Matt watched the woman stand alone and properly recollect herself, a black-clad assistant rushing up and jabbering something at her before being gently shooed away with an easy laugh and a painfully fake grin. To have an assistant…she had to be someone of some vague importance at least; the woman had the pose, the looks - she was pretty and she was cute, and she had a one-thousand megawatt smile pasted on her perfectly made-up face already even though it was only minutes after her trip, a dazzling display of white, even teeth and glamorously applied red lipstick.

She looked downright miserable. Tugging idly on the hem of her – short - skirt she was already moving away again, trying to mingle with the crowds and standing out all the more obviously. Petite as she clearly was her heels set her above the heads of others in the crowd, her golden hair shimmering under the fluorescent lights overhead. She kind of vaguely reminded him of Mello (the show-stealer that he was) when she got back enough of her confidence to actually break out into a strut, but that was dangerously amusing territory that Matt knew would have him in stitches, rolling about on the floor, if he entertained the idea for too long.

"Hey." Matt wasn't quite sure why he'd left the corner he'd been lurking in for the past quarter of an hour to go over and greet the blonde woman – maybe it was the Mello link, the familiarity of something in this alien environment, or maybe it was just because the female was good on the eyes and he was _that _bored.

"Hi," was the somewhat startled and rather unprofessional response, the woman caught mid-step and grinding awkwardly to a halt when Matt stepped into her path. "Um…do I know you…?" Her voice was delicate, Japanese soft but clear.

"Not at all." Matt replied in the same tongue (Wammy's had its many good points), raised the sunglasses he'd been wearing over his eyes – pleased for once he'd opted away from his goggles – and perched them atop his hair. He smiled reassuringly at the vague confusion on his new companion's face. "I was lonely in the corner by myself and you looked vaguely lonely too doing your ankle in, so – I came to mingle. D'you mind?"

"Ah," the vaguest of blushes on pale skin, "you noticed Misa's stumble?"

A sympathetic nod, only partially feigned. Matt made sure to keep his green eyes sincere as he looked down at the other; even with heels, the girl – Misa?- was shorter than him. "You okay?"

"Yes, Misa thanks you for your concern." The woman gave a quick bow, blond hair hanging around her face, framing it in neat, silky lines.

"Common courtesy," Matt returned, before making sure his hand was clean (he wiped it on his trousers) and extending it to the girl. "I'm Matt."

"Matt-san?" Misa smiled, already growing accustomed to this new name with honorific attached, taking the offered hand and shaking it briefly. "I'm Misa." Her nails were painted red, and decorated with tiny silver stars. "Misa Amane."

"'Amane'?" Matt quickly attempted the common translation, brow wrinkling in thought before smoothing out in pleased comprehension. "…'Sound of Heaven'." He glanced back at the lovely female before him, jade eyes appraising. "It suits you, Misa-san."

"Chan," Misa corrected him almost immediately, "Misa-Misa or Misa-chan."

Matt nodded. "Misa-chan."

* * *

"_What're you drawing?"_

_Matt looked up from his sketch pad, over his shoulder to where a blonde girl stood, a stranger in the orphanage. He'd been attempting to draw a character from one of the many games he owned, but didn't bother thinking on that. "Who're you?"_

_The girl beamed at him, raising a hand to tuck and unruly curl of hair behind her ear. She looked to be about ten, the same age as Matt himself. "They call me Linda."_

"…_Matt," Matt responded, automatically going to yank up the shoulder of the baggy, stripy shirt he wore that had slipped down sometime whilst he'd been drawing. "What's your number?" It was the automatic question that came to many Wammy students, the demand to know what rank each child possessed in the hierarchy under the elusive L._

_Linda folded her arms behind her back. "I don't know."_

"_Didn't they tell you when you were enrolled?" Matt was curious now._

_Linda shrugged, delightfully unbothered. "I forgot."_

_Matt thought of the deeply unconcerned Near, number one, and his heated rival – and Matt's best friend – Mello, the blond boy with an inferiority complex the size of the Milky Way and rank number two. He thought of their squabbling, and antagonism, and to be faced with Linda's cheerfully deliberate (it had to be) forgetfulness…_

_Matt laughed._

* * *

"-And they wanted to put Misa in a dress made of wires and other computer bits and pieces but Misa said _'no, _Misa does _not _want to get electrocuted wandering around the convention today, thank you very much,' and they fussed for a good half hour but they eventually let Misa go." The blonde woman was in full swing against her agent apparently, Matt listening with vague amusement as his strange companion ranted away about the model's life he could only guess at. "And _then _Misa got lectured by her hairdresser because apparently she was late for an appointment with her, but it was Minoko's fault so I told her to take it up with Minoko, because if _she _hadn't held Misa up with the dress my hair would've been done _ages_ beforehand!"

"Your hair looks fine to me," Matt commented absently. "It's a very pretty colour."

Misa fixed him with a dazzling smile, one with actual feeling behind it. "Thank you, Matt-kun." (The 'san' had long since been dropped in replace for the more familiar term of address.)

"Your clothing too…perhaps you should just go ahead and choose your own clothes and hair, Misa-chan?"

A shake of the head. "Misa-Misa would be fired if she did that all the time." The woman sighed. "A model has to wear what is designed for her even if she doesn't like it – it's part of the job."

"Do you…_like _the job?" Matt himself had no set job exactly; after leaving Wammy's anything he did was strictly freelance so he was available for whatever random thing Mello could call him up out of the blue for.

"Misa loves it." His companion smiled once more, easy and sincere. "Misa gets to talk with so many people, and to travel, and -" a short pause, the look in blue eyes fading to the quiet woe Matt had first noticed, "…Misa can branch out into anything, really."

"And…that's bad?"

"No, no! Misa's already been a film, you know…"

* * *

"_You know…" another half-forgotten corner of the Wammy's House, Matt interrupted whilst drawing once more, a familiar face leaning over his shoulder, "that's not bad." Linda. "Do you draw whenever you're not gaming?"_

"_When I'm not gaming," Matt shortly expanded, "and when I'm not with Mello."_

_Linda smiled at him, sitting down beside him and producing her own sketchbook and a pencil. "Would you draw with me?"_

* * *

Misa didn't understand a word of what he was saying as he explained to her how the latest gaming console worked, but Matt was mollified to note that she _was _trying, and she did look fascinated all the same. (And she looked awfully pretty, especially as she stood, hanging off of his arm.)

"Matt-kun sounds like someone Misa knows," the model eventually said, after the red-head had finally finished his nigh-monologue on the intricacies of technological advancement. And she wasn't changing the subject, not really, her addition sounded like a continuation of the subject, albeit in a slightly different vein.

"Oh?" Matt smiled slowly at the blonde, the woman's expression a little shy as she looked back at him. "Are they smart?"

"_Very _smart – Misa knows no-one smarter."

"Then I'm flattered." Matt tucked a strand of loose hair behind Misa's ear, keeping his tone light, charming. (He could be charming when he felt like it, screw Mello and his insistence otherwise.) "…Would Misa like to come for a drink with me?"

Hesitance. Matt caught it lurking in her eyes, in the slightly nervous shift of her pupils. "Misa-Misa is working right now -"

"I meant later," Matt gently pressed, "after the convention."

Misa teetered, unsure –

"Please? Just as friends; I've had such a wonderful time talking to you here…"

"Alright," Misa nodded, and fell. "Misa would love to."

* * *

"_I lost again!" Linda smiled even as she lost, flinging down her controller in an acknowledgement of Matt's superior gaming skills. It was the sixth time she'd been soundly beaten within the half hour, her thirteen year-old companion grinding her into the figurative dust with a gracious aplomb. _

_Matt eyed her warily, afraid the girl might explode like Mello did when matt beat him one too many times. "I'm sorry?"_

"_Don't apologise, idiot." Linda smacked him gently on the arm, the insult light and friendly. She didn't mean it, quite unlike when many of the other members of the orphanage used it – Linda didn't care about intelligence or rank. "Now," she brought her legs up to her chest, winding her arms around her calves and resting her chin upon her knees as she fixed Matt with a firm gaze, "what would you like for Christmas? It's only a fortnight away, and I haven't got you anything yet."_

_Matt slowly put down his own controller, suddenly feeling extraordinarily shy. "You don't need to get me something; I have my own allowance I -"_

"_You have absolutely no choice in the matter." Linda overrode him with a smile._

_Matt looked up at her, grateful suddenly for the goggles hiding his eyes from the girl. "…I don't know."_

* * *

In retrospect, getting drunk probably hadn't been Matt's best ever idea. Especially not so close to Christmas, everywhere offering 'seasonal deals' on alcohol in a bid to get people to come in and sample their wares.

Misa…didn't help. The young woman couldn't hold her drink and seemed very determined to be in any state but sober, her earlier misery shining through once more and overriding the fake smile that slipped off her lips.

"It's my birthday soon," she informed him after she'd downed a good few glasses of wine, leaning far too heavily on one arm on the bar counter.

"Really?" Matt wasn't in much of a better state.

"Yes."

"When is it?"

"Christmas Day…" Misa smiled absently, lifting her glass to the light and sloshing around the red liquid inside of it, "Misa is a Christmas baby!"

"…Then shouldn't you be called _Holly _or something…?"

"Misa stands for 'mass' in a lot of languages," the model informed her somewhat intoxicated companion. "Misa's mother picked it for that reason."

"Nice…"

"Matt stands for Matthew, doesn't it? Misa thinks it does because Matthew was a saint only Misa never listened to her mother enough when she was little so she can't remember what for…"

"He wrote a Christian Gospel." Matt told her, wondering vaguely why the room was beginning to hang at an old angle around him. "Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."

"Bless the bed that I lie on…" Misa giggled when the red-head gave her a weird look, drunk as he was. "Hasn't Matt-kun heard the rhyme?"

* * *

She_ kissed _him_ when she handed over his Christmas present. Linda had bought him a new game, one he didn't already have (he was touched to note she'd taken the time to check he didn't have it first), and laughed genially as Matt had tried to blurt out his thanks only to stammer and falter and draw to a stunned silence completely when she leaned forwards and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek._

_Mello, watching from the sidelines, gave up and left the room, somewhere between amusement and disgust._

"_Look up," Linda told Matt, when the boy had gone a shade of red darker than his hair._

_Matt obligingly looked up, and saw the mistletoe. He blinked – once -, and then looked back down at the girl before him. "Who hangs mistletoe in an orphanage?" Linda, still smiling, shrugged. "Don't you think it's promoting the wrong ideas?" Another shrug. Matt gave her a kiss on the cheek, in return for the one she'd given. "Thanks." _

* * *

"You're not Japanese…" Misa's choice of topics got more and more random as she got more and more inebriated.

"Nah…" And Matt lost his wonderful vocabulary, and witty retorts.

"Then why is Matt-kun in Japan…?"

"I'm waiting on a friend," he explained briefly, opting carefully away from any specifics more by habit than thought. (And habit was a good thing, because if he'd given away important information simply because he was wasted Mello would've _killed _him.)

"A friend?" The girl beside him smiled a little wistfully at that, the beginnings of tears sparkling at the base of her blue eyes. "That sounds nice…Misa wishes she had a friend to talk to now…"

"Mi-_saaaaa, _don't cryyy." Matt couldn't deal with people crying. "Your make-up will run and you'll go all smudgy."

…Apparently Matt's tact had went the same way as his vocabulary…

Misa's sparkliness got worse at that, and then the tears overfilled her eyes and ran down her cheeks and – and –

"Misa, don't cry!" Matt was…pretty much useless, helplessly flailing –drunk - in the face of a pretty model beginning to sob whilst everyone in the bar around him shot him poisonous looks for upsetting such a lovely girl. He turned to glare at them all. "It's not _my _fault!"

Misa continued to cry.

"Misa…" Awkwardly, Matt wound his arms around his companion's shoulders, resting her head on his chest. "Don't cry, please? Everyone looks like they're going to strangle me with fairy lights, and that would probably hurt."

"But Misa's so _alone…"_

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Blurry, mascara-smudged eyes looked up at him. "But you're – you're – you look like him." She finished finally, somewhat uselessly, unable to get what she meant across.

"'Him'?" Matt queried, still enough of his wits about him to seize the noun. "Him of before – him of the being smart before, him?" Misa nodded, dumb. "Is he making you cry?"

"He – he wouldn't -"

"But you _are," _Matt insisted.

"He's not doing it on purpose." Misa whispered. "He loves Misa, Misa knows it."

"And yet he's not here -"

"He's busy!" Misa wrenched out of the other's hold, putting her face in her hands. "And Misa is busy too and – and -" She was still crying.

"Misa…" Matt tried to take the woman's hands, covered as they were in salt and damp and mascara, and got smacked on the arm. He sighed. "I'm sure he's thinking of you?" Matt didn't even _want _to know who they were talking about.

Misa glanced at him between her fingers, a small child playing peek-a-boo. "You – you think so? Matt-kun truly thinks so?"

"Yeah…" He didn't.

Misa sat up a little straighter, trying to dry her cheeks off with the back of her hand, and ruining her make-up further. Her smile was shaky.

They drank some more.

* * *

_They were fourteen, and giggles often followed them when Linda held Matt's hand, the red-head actually blushing at the motion and ramming his goggles further down his face to try and hide the pink somewhat. Linda thought it was sweet, and told him so, and then Matt would act about six years-old and run away from her to whimper to - a sometimes amused, mostly exasperated – Mello about strange girls. (Mello thought they were both insane.) Mello just dumped a games console in Matt's hand, gave the boy a precious bar of chocolate, and pointed to the bean-bag in the corner of his bedroom. Matt often followed the sound – if silent – advice, and nothing was heard for him for the next few hours aside from the bleeps and bloops of the console, and the crunch of chocolate gone in about four bites._

* * *

Misa was very soft, and very sweet, and tasted very strongly of sake and wine whilst pressed up against a wall, her hands tugging at Matt's shirt. Both of them were slightly too drunk to make any sense of any situation, well past the stage of slurring their words and into slurring their brain cells, caught between giggles and tears, insanity and despair. There was something a little wrong in both of their heads but their companion was just as intoxicated as them and far too gone to notice it, and so they continued to kiss, continued to grope, continued to taste ashes and alcohol and absolute apathy before they took themselves to oblivion, to bed.

In the morning, when Matt woke up, he firstly thanked whatever God there was that he'd found his way back to his _own _bedroom, and secondly that Misa Amane, whoever the hell she _really _was, had woken up before him and already left.

Matt didn't like awkward mornings, especially after an awkward night before.

* * *

_Linda held his hand as Mello broke the news to him, the blond boy's words clipped and short, his blue eyes far too bright for them to be normal, his form shaking, spelling danger-danger, watch out, beware._

_Matt stared, unseeing, at a wall when Mello left the room, unable to grasp the three simple words that were suddenly so important at Wammy's._

L is dead.

_Matt shook, by himself, Linda trying to comfort, shocked as she was herself, but what was worse, oh so much _worse –

"_I'm leaving."_

_Mello was going too, and that meant –_

"_I'm not going to be seeing much of you anymore, am I?" Linda was smiling still, always smiling, but now it was soft and sad and accepting._

"_No." Matt shook his head. "I'll be going after him as soon as I can."_

_Linda squeezed his hand, once, kissed his cheek goodbye, and left him to think._

* * *

Years later, the Kira case still very much active, Mello and Near still endlessly squabbling over who it was that had the right to L's title, Matt joined his friend. Mello was just as blunt, still as…as _Mello _as ever, but Matt helped him, because they were friends, and that was what friends did. And when Matt was told to observe the Kira suspects he did, because that was what he'd been asked to do.

And yet, when staring at the woman on-screen before him, the woman suspected of being the second Kira, of killing thousands of men and women…Matt could only stare for a long while, utterly dumbfounded. Stared, and easily recognised her.

Misa Amane.

'Crap,' thought Matt, and meant it.


End file.
